


of bad decisions and broken minds

by arochill



Series: Begin Again (Dream SMP) [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hurt No Comfort, Insanity, Possession, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arochill/pseuds/arochill
Summary: Tommy was right to tell Dream not to bring him back. That, Wilbur agreed with wholeheartedly.Dream should have known better than to expect a happy reunion with the man he once went to war against.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot
Series: Begin Again (Dream SMP) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195076
Comments: 9
Kudos: 113





	of bad decisions and broken minds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itisjosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/gifts).



> josh!! i’ll never be able to explain how much you continue to inspire me to continue to write, simply by writing yourself. you have to be one of the coolest people i’ve met, and it means the world to me that i’ve gotten to be your friend. thank you for being you josh, ily <3

There is a monster beneath his skin, made up of patchwork memories and emotions he wished he could no longer feel. It was a creature made of his own actions, ripping and tearing at his mind until there was nothing before but a ghost that had never truly been _him._ Names and faces and experiences were difficult when no one cared enough to help.

He was split in two. One half was shattered, broken beyond repair, and lost. That half of him didn’t even _know_ what he had done. The other half of him was old and tired and had been broken for a long time now.

He wasn’t surprised.

Losing those memories had been a long time coming. There’s only so much you can do when you are stuck in between two versions of yourself, when one didn’t remember at all and the other was stuck in perpetual darkness.

He was glad he died when he did.

The monster under his skin was an ugly thing, and he knew they all saw it before he died – tall and grotesque and nothing like the man they had once known as a leader, a _revolutionary._ That monster had been a bomb of his own creation, and he had accepted his part in its destruction the moment it became too powerful.

Wilbur was a monster in human skin. He had known that for a long time. He had known it long before he stepped foot on Dream’s server. He had known it long before Phil’s letter had begun to grow shorter and shorter with each passing day.

The problem with dying was that no one expects to come back. For Wilbur, he didn’t even _want_ to come back. He knew what would happen if he did. He knew the destruction he would cause – whether it was on purpose didn’t matter.

The thing about dying is that no one expects to be brought back. The thing about becoming the villain is that no one should ever even _want_ you back in the first place.

But despite that, despite what should have been, he still woke up with a pounding headache and a lack of darkness around him.

Breathing is difficult when you haven’t needed to do it for what felt like over nine years. he That was the first thing Wilbur discovered when he came to, body laid down uncomfortably against cold, familiar black stone. The second was the searing pain that he felt in his chest, forcing him to stay awake even though every other part of him wanted to disappear back into the inky black void that had become, for black of a better word, his home.

The third was that it was silent. As quiet as the void had been, it was never like this. Even there, where all your senses felt like they were trying to burn you alive, it was never _quiet._ There was always the universe echoing, _screaming_ at you in the back of your mind, and there was no ignoring it.

But it was quiet. It was quiet, and there was something staring at him, and it was better and worse than the void had ever been all at once. Because at least there it was familiar.

At least there he–

“Welcome back, Wilbur.” He heard, and he forced himself out of his own mind.

He exhaled sharply, stumbling to his legs like a newborn foal. And he stared straight at Dream. Dream, with a cracked mask that left his grin exposed. Dream, who was skinny and wearing an orange jumpsuit that didn’t look right on him after seeing him in green for so long. Dream, who was the first person Wilbur had seen outside an inky darkness in so, _so_ long.

Wilbur breathed.

“Dream.”

His voice was cracked and broken and wrong. In a way that was pitiful if only because once upon a time it had been all he was good for. He straightened himself up nonetheless.

The grin on Dream’s face sharpened. It was familiar. Wilbur had seen it on Dream’s face more than enough in the past. Nine years of nothing did nothing to temper Wilbur’s complete and utter _hatred_ at that grin. If his body was strong enough, he was almost certain he would throw a fist into Dream’s face.

“I’ve missed you, Wilbur. It’s nice to see you again!” Dream exclaimed, and he was walking over to Wilbur with shaking legs, “Did you miss me too?”

Wilbur forced himself to stay still. It was laughably easy.

“Funnily enough, I did.” Wilbur smiled, but it was as false as it had ever been. It was as false as it had been in the days of Pogtopia, and the days long before even then. By the way Dream’s grin faltered, he definitely noticed.

 _Good._ Wilbur’s hands twitched. Dream stood directly in front of him. He was sure if anyone were to look at them at that moment, they would have looked like a broken caricature of one another. Two monsters made by the world around them. But no one was around to spot the madness in either of their faces but them.

Dream reached out to put his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders, but he faltered. Wilbur couldn’t figure out why. He found that he didn’t really care for the answer.

“Why did you bring me back, Dream?” He asked, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed. He ignored the way his voice felt staticky in a way that couldn’t exactly be attributed to lack of use.

He watched as Dream inhaled. He watched as Dream made sure not to look him in the eyes.

“Help me leave the prison, and I’ll help you cause whatever destruction you want. Tommy said you–”

 _“Tommy_ said? I didn’t know you listened to kids, Dream.” Wilbur smirked, leaning forwards, teeth sharp and stained in soot. He found himself surprised as Dream took a stumbling step backwards.

“I don’t.” Dream snapped.

Wilbur’s eyes widened. He choked on a laugh. He took his first step forward, ignoring the way his legs didn’t want to work properly, and Dream stumbled into a blackstone wall. Wilbur could only laugh harder, harsh and bitter and cruel.

“Are you _scared_ of me, Dream? _Me?_ I can’t believe this. Big bad Dream, scared of Wilbur Soot. What, do you think I’ll _kill_ you, Dream? Do you think I’ll make you suffer for sending my little brother to me in the afterlife? Do you… do you think I’ll help you escape a prison if I _pity you?”_ Wilbur asked, staring Dream down with wide eyes.

“I don’t want _pity!”_ Dream snapped. But his mouth only slammed shut once again when Wilbur took another step towards him.

“Then what is it, Dream? What has you so _rattled?_ You look like you’ve seen a _ghost,_ but you just brought one back, didn’t you?”

Dream was silent.

Wilbur moved closer.

He reached out to put a hand on Dream’s shoulder, and found himself freezing as he did so. Pale, translucent skin. Unnatural. Ghostly.

The realisation was remarkably easy to accept.

He wasn’t alive.

“Oh. You _didn’t_ bring me back, did you? What did you get _wrong,_ Dreamy? Did you say the words wrong? Did you forget that I needed a _body,_ perhaps?” Wilbur cackled.

Dream glared through the holes in his mask.

“I don’t think I’ll help you leave, Dream. Not in the way you seem to want. But you brought me back, Dream. So you have to take responsibility.”

“What–?”

“You know Ghostbur was just my mind, don’t you? Shattered. Broken pieces of a man long gone. He’s just me with a bit more… _life._ I could see through his eyes, even when I was stuck in that _awful_ place listening to Schlatt drunkenly talk my ear off.” Wilbur said, considering, ignoring the shakes in Dream’s body.

There was a monster in Wilbur’s skin. It was what withheld the chaos inside him for so long. But without his body, without something _trapping_ him, holding him back – he was just the monster he had always been.

“So, no. I’m not going to pity you, Dream. But I think maybe, just… _maybe,_ I’ll hurt you. Just enough to show you what you decided to bring back. Tommy should never have mentioned me to you, Dream. But I suppose he’s not an _idiot,_ is he? He’s not the one who tried to bring me back.”

It was quiet. Wilbur didn’t care. He was used to the quiet.

Dream didn’t even seem to breath.

“You know, my memories of Ghostbur are pretty good, despite everything. Did you know Schlatt possessed me once?” Wilbur asked, joy rising in his voice, “Did you know I was in that _black fucking hole_ of a place for nine years? I’ve had time to practice. I wonder if Sam will ever let you out if he learns that Wilbur Soot, monster and founder of L’Manburg, is in your head. Shall we try?”

“Wilbur, don’t –” Dream tried, shaking his head. It was the first time Wilbur had seen the man, strong as he was, look so pitiful.

It was almost easy splitting his mind in half. He had gotten used to the feeling in the nine years he and Ghostbur were forced to co-exist. By Dream’s screams, however, well. Dream had never died like Wilbur, never experienced _hell_ like Wilbur, had he? Might as well give the man a taste.

There was something broken inside Wilbur. It had only gotten worse when his only company was a drunken tyrant and a mexican caricature of the man who helped orchestrate his downfall. It had only got worse as he was torn to shreds, over and over, by a universe that could never be kind.

There was something shattered inside Ghostbur. It only got worse as the memories finally began to return, regardless of his want for them to. It only got worse when he looked Tommy in the eyes, saw the pain buried behind them, and knew it was his own fault. It only grew worse as he realised that as much as he cared, he had lost a part of him a long time ago – that despite whoever he became in the end, he would always be the monster he was born to become.

There was something waiting, within the prison. Broken and shattered and formed of the shards of two mad men who would never be anything more than the monsters the world saw them as.

They never should have thought bringing Wilbur back was a good idea. They didn’t realise who – _what –_ they would release back into the world if they killed Dream. The children of the server should have left the prison and those inside it behind.

They should have left well enough alone.

(Now they had two monsters to worry about.)

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> i’m sorry
> 
> (please let me know what you think! i thrive off comments!!)


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